


Love, Use, and Abuse

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Scratching, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I put on that mask and I wear it with more pride than I’ve ever worn another mask before. But I wear it for the masses and all the while... on the inside... I’m drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SakuraAme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraAme/gifts).



> “People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason the world is in chaos is because things are being loved and people are being used.” – unknown  
> Song[s]: "Fine Again" by Seether

_It’s always been a fragile line between living life and drifting through it for me. There’s been this eternal grey line that I’m toeing time and again, just to push on through. When it comes to it, when I really pause and think on what I’m doing, I realize the reason for the smile on my lips is perhaps less true to myself than it should be. Don’t get me wrong... it is anything but false. But it’s not there for my own happiness, not born from the laughter or the passions of the heart. No... this smile, the million-watt smile that I’m so known for is – in actuality – for the world rather than myself. I put on that mask and I wear it with more pride than I’ve ever worn another mask before. But I wear it for the masses and all the while... on the inside... I’m drowning._

_When people look at us as a whole, they see the mask of truth that we spread across the outside; the smeared paste of who we strive to be, not the reality of who we are on the inside. But that’s how it’s supposed to be. A stage persona. The reality of the situation is always supposed to be hidden; it’s too questionable to present full-on to the world. Somewhere in this is a flaw, one that has claimed the lives of many a person that we never expected to have plucked from our midst. We see the outward smile, we hear the laughter, and we disregard what all of that must be hiding. Then there are the cases that everyone looks at far too hard. Take Kyo for example. He smiles or laughs and everyone calls it false. But the truth is I’ve never seen someone so genuine to his own emotions in those moments. He will not smile or laugh unless it’s from his own heart... from the plunged depths of his very soul. I laugh, perhaps too much. I stand forefront as a beacon of hope and joy, a source of livelihood for so many people. But my smile is not true to my heart, it doesn’t go all the way in. And not a single person that I’m aware of suspects a thing._

_Maybe it’s selfish, wanting the world to be happy. Some call it selfless, but how can it be when it’s the only thing that drags me from one day to the next? How can one man be happy in the midst of the pits of hell that are this industry? We’re stolen from, robbed, used, and at times even abused. And that’s just the record label. We’re a name to slap on things to make money. Our souls were long ago sold upon the black market table of the industry. It’s the very price of fame, of success. Rip your still-beating heart from your chest and hand it over. Once upon a time I showed my true feelings in the midst of one of our music videos; the sensors let it through because they thought it one of our shock-value moments. The truth was far worse than that. It was in those moments that I sold my soul to the proverbial devil. I was losing myself and no one could hear me screaming behind the mask of smiles that I wore. Still, even now, those screams are silenced in the background; the wails of another heard far more than my own._

_Jealousy. That spark of indignation that someone else can be heard without even trying while you wither and die in the void. I cannot hold my head high without presenting a falsity. I cannot walk the path of life without a crutch. Perhaps it’s not the largest crutch that anyone has ever leaned on; mine is simply alcohol while I’ve watched others succumb to far worse in the backstage mirror. The defining moment for me that almost everyone in this industry drowns just like me was touring with a bunch of bands back in ’06. I watched how many of them popped a pill, cut a line, or plunged the needle just to feel that little crystalline drop of sanity for a few minutes longer. The media and the public wonders what drives us to these depths, what it is that crams us into the four glass walls that surround us and crush us. But they cannot see... cannot feel... the leash that we’re kept upon. Even as they print the venomous, hate-filled words, they do not understand that they’re tightening that leash even further, choking us out. I’ve watched many a man become not but a shell of what they once were; a robot to do and respond rather than a human to be and exist._

_I’ve tried... I’ve tried over and over, time and again. I’ve quit smoking and started again nearly twenty times in my sixteen years in front of the spotlight of fame. And I’ve sworn off alcohol more times than that, usually in the midst of one of my hellish hangovers that ensure me spending my entire morning hanging over the seat of a toilet, losing what little grip on sanity that I have left. Proclamations of the porcelain God, words that later drive us even deeper into the pits we were trying to free ourselves from._

_From the outside, it looks so simply easy. From beyond the four glass walls of pressure we look like we’re squandering our money on useless crutches; we look like we’re being stupid and ignoring all the things that are supposed to be right in the world. But, in reality, we’re suffocating and dying right in the public eye. Our shackles bind us closer, the ropes yanked tighter until we’re so close to breaking it’s just one fragile moment away from being found on the bathroom floor of our hotel room, the headlines reciting what a shame it is that such a young soul was lost to the power of the drink, the powder, the injection, or that bottle upon the counter. And I can’t honestly say that some days that end is almost welcome. There have been nights in which I’m so worn down, in which I’m so tired of this falsity that is my life, that I’ve contemplated what we in the industry simply call the “way out”. No... not the “easy” way out. Just the only path to freedom that we possess. But even I’m not in the danger group. I’ve never gone far enough to buy the supplies, to write the letters, to open the door and attempt to step through it. I’m just the percentage that understands what it feels like to stare at the only solid black line in the world that could solve everything for me. I know it’d leave chaos behind... and perhaps that’s why I only stare at it and never cross it. It’s why I don’t hedge the line as much as I could._

_I know my limits and my ends. I know where the step goes from hangover from hell to walking the tightrope of death. I toed it once back in the day, completely unintentionally. I woke up in a hospital with a plastic tube down my throat, pumping my stomach, an IV in my arm in some attempt to flush my system. And I’ve never walked so close to that fragile barrier again, fear restraining me where I am._

_But that’s not to say my hell isn’t just as painful as anyone else’s. I’ve spent nights alone in a hotel room in the middle of a country I’m not familiar with, in the midst of a language I can’t speak, clutching the bottle tight to my chest, the cigarette clutched in my left hand dusting embers on the once pristine bedsheets. And I’ve spent many a morning wondering how one man can push through two bottles of Jack and a six pack of Heineken all by himself. Even when I wake up lying on the bathroom floor, curled up around the toilet in an unfamiliar room I have to force myself to understand that this is the hell I choose over the hell I can’t escape. Each drink a taste of freedom to the soul._

_But tonight, as I sit here, I realize that I’m wearing different labels than I ever have before. Liar. It’s the label Kyo has given me each time that I’ve promised to stop and slipped right back into the depths of this comfortable haze. Fraud. What the world would label me if they knew that the smile and the laugh have never been born from my heart. Escapist. The label I’ve pushed upon myself for what I’m doing. Worthless. A tag that Kyo and I wear side-by-side. And really... what are we if not that? I lie to myself and to the world to the point that it has become an art. I can’t even be truthful to the most simple aspects of my life, like my sexuality, my happiness, my love. I’m the monster that used to hide in the shadows of my soul and if that isn’t worthless, then I’m not entirely sure what the definition of the word truly is._

_When I look back at how we started... at the labels that I posted upon the walls of my soul back then, it’s all sort of a sad excuse for a life. Ambitious. That drive within my soul to become something great. Role model. I was top of my class, a badge I wore with honor. Intelligent. My brain had no rival for years, brimming with knowledge and passion to learn even more. And now... now I’m lucky if I remember my own name by the end of a night. Happy. It’s the one that brings tears to my eyes. Even with certain repressions, I was genuinely happy with myself... with my life. Before I stumbled into this soul-crushing industry and allowed it to encapsulate me in the chamber that has always left me on the outside looking in._

_This is the first time I find myself actually saying how I feel, actually putting the pen to paper and pouring it out. And maybe that’s how Kyo deals better than the rest of us. He’s had his crutches, but they’ve always been more public than ours... more forward and purposely screaming for the help that none of the rest of us can ever bring ourselves to ask for. And that’s just it, isn’t it? We need help. **I** need help. It’s the first foot forward, the first shuffle across the bridge I’ve never quite crossed. I admit it. I need help._

Die placed his pen down on top of the paper, flexing his hand, the joints snapping from how tightly he’d been gripping the pen as he pushed his soul out across the paper. Settling back in the rickety old chair, he pushed one hand through his red hair, letting it cascade back down around his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and slowly, on the exhale, he whispered, “I need help. I have a sickness just as real as any other and I need the cure.”

Pushing himself up from the seat, he made his way into the bathroom, snatching up the half-empty bottle of Jack from the counter. He pulled off the cap, tossing it on the counter as he stared into the mirror in front of himself, the image reflected back sallow-skinned and sad. He raised the bottle and then brought it to his lips. And for a moment, he paused, contemplating his actions, the taste of it pressed against his lips, the amber relief so very close. He caught his own eyes in the mirror and shook his head. “Foolish.” Tilting the bottle back to upright, he shifted to the sink and upended it, watching the liquid rush down into the white basin, swirling down the drain and out of sight, out of reach, but not out of mind. With a sigh, Die tossed the bottle into the trash and then sagged over the counter, his head bowed, anxiety at facing the world sober flooding through him. How long had it been? How many _years_ since he’d had to raise his head utterly sober toward the masses and greet them with that smile plastered across his face. The true test would be if he could still fake it without the helping hand to guide him along.

Even as he pulled the hair tie from his wrist and pulled his hair back from his face, he already knew what had to be done. If he was going to face life, he was going to face it stone-cold sober rather than halfway there. Reaching into the sink, he unscrewed the stopper, discarding it on the counter before he turned on the faucet and braced himself on the counter top. Two slim digits slid into his mouth, the pads warm upon his tongue. For a moment, he savored that sensation... something that he missed for a number of reasons. And then he pushed them all the way back, forcing his gag reflex and instantly everything clenched; all systems reverse. Draping himself over the sink, he just let it all go, went with it just as smoothly as if the bile rising in his throat were really the gentle caress of a long-lost lover. Closing his eyes tight, he road it out, feeling the energy draining from his being, the exhaustion settling in.

When it all finally stopped, the next ritual set in, the one he’d learned from so long ago. Clean it all up, pretend it never happened, and no one will ever know. He wiped down the sink, sprayed the air so it didn’t reek of the acidic stench of vomit, and then stumbled his way to the shower. Clean... clean it all off and wash it all away.

Even an hour later, as he slid between the sheets of his bed, wide-awake and knowing sleep would never come, he found himself prepared to face the world ahead of himself. Maybe he was switching one crutch for another, but this one was an old friend... one he knew how to dig himself out of, a shallow grave in comparison to the skyscraper depths of the other. And that... that was manageable.

**To Be Continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

_It’s been a week since I last sat down and wrote. A week since I traded one crutch for another, older friend. Maybe it’s not the best path and I know that. But I can’t do this without something... without a way to escape. Or maybe that’s the addiction speaking. I can’t. Can’t. Is it that I can’t or I won’t? Maybe I just won’t allow myself to exist without something to fall back on._

_I feel like utter shit. I’m not even sure how long I can keep on writing today. My hands shake when I play, my body trembles without my permission, and my throat is sore from all the acid. I don’t think anyone’s noticed I’m doing it yet. But the compensation... the amount I have to do it in order to overcome the desire to lose myself in a bottle again... it’s disgusting. It’s been a week. The first few days were difficult. I’ve spent so many years learning to eat right again, learning to eat certain things... and now I’m purposely capsizing that boat. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I crave food like I never did before. I want anything just to make the cramps go away. Something to overcome the exhaustion that’s eating at my body. I’ve passed out twice, but both times I’ve been alone, so no one has found out just yet. The day is coming and I know it, but maybe if I can hold off for a month or so, then I’ll at least have the alcohol under control._

Die put the pen down and rolled over on the bed, his hand sliding across his stomach, tears forming in the corners of his eyes at the way his stomach cramped obnoxiously, attempting to tell him he was starving and needed something in it right then. He’d always hate the idea of eating and the purging, but it was the only way to quell the cramps when they got this bad. Give it what it wanted, give it fifteen minutes to know it was in there, and then reverse it all before it stuck.

Rolling over, he grabbed the bag of celery off the nightstand. He’d been going out after they were supposed to be in bed to get it, knowing asking for it would be a sure-fire way to tip Nora off that he was doing this again. She’d been the one to catch him last time and he hated to think of putting her through that hell again. For the most part, he’d stopped what he was doing because of her reaction to it, because of the pain he saw reflected in her eyes each time she caught wind of what he might have been doing.

He broke off two stalks of celery and forced himself to chew them up, swallow them down. He hated the taste, the consistency... every single thing about celery, but it was the only thing that mother nature provided that he could eat and make him feel full when in reality he was using more energy to digest it than it gave him back in return. The wonder weight-loss diet... birthed from hell itself, he was convinced.

Once he was done, he put the celery back on the stand and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, praying for it to kick in sometime soon, the cramps nearly crippling in capacity. Just for something to do, he reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Immediately, the familiar sounds of the announcer for Anheuser-Busch came across the air and Die nearly choked, jamming the off button with his finger and tossing the remote at the couch across the room. It hit, bounced off, and landed in the floor, seemingly unharmed by the incident. Die, on the other hand, wasn’t at all. Desire welled up inside him, confusing and pressing, ripping and clawing at his insides. Anxiety hit him like a freight train and he folded in on himself so quickly someone on the outside would have assumed he was dying. His fingers pulled the pillows down from the headboard, slowly tucking them in around himself, curling tighter with each one he added to his pile until he felt nearly suffocated by them, his heart pounding in his chest. The worse the coil wound in his chest, the harder it became to breathe, to think, to even exist.

The phone on the table next to the bed began to ring, snapping everything like a breaking rubber band. He jerked away from the pillows, sitting up and fumbling for the phone, desperately attempting to shove his mask of indifference into place as he lifted the receiver from its cradle. By the time he got the phone to his ear, his face was passive, his heartbeat steady, and the burning agony trapped in the box deep inside him. “Hello?”

There was a pause on the other end and then, “Die, we need to talk.”

Die swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and then pursed his lips, thinking about it for a moment. What had he let out? What had he done to make it obvious he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to? Where had he fucked up? At long last, he opened his mouth and began to talk, “Abo-“

“Don’t... don’t do this. I want to see you face-to-face. Right now. Open the door.” 

The call disconnected and Die sat there, receiver in hand, feeling as stupid as he would have if he had been holding an onion and attempting to speak to it. After a moment, he placed the receiver back and then shifted to toss the pillows back up against the headboard, erasing the evidence of his anxiety attack. Standing, he smoothed out his shirt and then went to the dresser, picking up the notebook he’d been writing in and slipping it into his luggage, deep inside so it wasn’t where anyone could see it and get curious. He started for the door and then gasped, darting back and grabbing the celery bag, taking it to his bag as well and jamming it into the top flap, zipping it up to cover it, and making a mental note not to forget it was there. With a sigh, he made his way across the room and opened the door, stepping back to let Kyo in.

The vocalist stepped inside and instantly ditched his flip-flops next to Die’s in the corner of the room. He turned to the other the instant the door had closed and pinned him with a fierce look. “One chance. Tell me what’s going on, right from your own mouth.”

Die stared at him, confusion painted across his features, and then he shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to stop drinking.”

Kyo nodded. “That I know. I’m talking about the rest.”

“... The rest?”

“Yes.”

Something about the way the other said it made it seem like he knew there was more and once again Die found his mind sliding over the various things he could have done wrong, where he could have slipped up. But nothing came to mind. Thus far he’d been really careful. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Chance gone,” Kyo muttered out, immediately turning and making his way fully into the room. He glanced over the table, the dresser, and then the bed. He went right to the fridge and opened it, looking around. Nothing but the stuff that was in there by default. His eyes scanned the room and then Die’s face before he stepped past him and into the bathroom.

In that moment, Die panicked. He’d prepared like he always did when he was stuck in this routine; he’d taken the plug out of the drain and set it aside on the sink and laid out the washcloth and the bleach cleaning pads for the sink, the air freshener beside it. The biggest tip-off in the universe was just sitting there, waiting for Kyo to put two and two together and come out the other side with four. Closing his eyes, he just waited on it, knowing it was going to happen, and praying all the while that it wouldn’t.

Kyo stepped back out of the bathroom looking slightly paler than he had when he’d entered. His fingertips brushed over Die’s arm as he moved past him, back into the room. Once more, he looked through the room, and then pointed at Die’s overnight bag. “Empty it.”

Die stared at Kyo, his face going from nervous to slightly angry in an instant. “I have private shit in there.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your porno mags or anything else of that ilk, Die, and you damn well know that’s not what I’m asking you to empty it for.”

“Why don’t you just accuse me and we’ll get this over with?” It was all he had left, the one last privacy and he wasn’t about to just drop it without a fight.

“I don’t like to accuse without all the facts on the table and you know it.” Kyo crossed his arms over his chest and drew himself up to his full height, his chin raised in a manner that spoke of how far he was willing to push this if he had to.

“I could give a fuck. I’m not emptying my bag for you or anyone else unless it’s airport security. So you can just go fuck yourself if you think you’re going to get some insight into my private life like this!”

“And you think you can stop me with your words, Die?”

The guitarist stood there, his mouth open, prepared for different words than that to have come from Kyo’s mouth. He snapped his jaw shut and glared daggers at the other. “I think I’ll do what I have to in order to preserve my dignity.”

Kyo stared at him hard for a few moments and then pulled a small case from inside his pocket, tossing it on the dresser and gesturing at it. “My secret’s on the table. I’m not asking to compare dick measurements here. So lay yours out and we can get the fuck on with this conversation.”

Die stared at him for a moment and then at the case, knowing exactly what it meant and it sobered him up instantly. Anger vanished and guilt slowly trickled in that he hadn’t noticed... that he’d been too absorbed in himself to see the signs and step in with Kyo. And maybe... maybe that had been the vocalist’s tip-off in the end. The one who always came between him and the blade had been too absent of mind to even acknowledge what he was doing.

Stepping to his bag, Die opened the zipper pouch and pulled free the celery, tossing it down next to Kyo’s case. “One thing or the other. You can’t ask me to be a hundred percent all the time without something.”

Kyo just watched the vegetable fall onto the dresser, his expression never changing. After a moment, he reached out and steered Die toward the bed, sitting him down and then crouching in front of him, his arms braced on Die’s knees, looking up into his face. “I want you to look at me the entire time I’m talking to you, okay? Promise me that much.”

Die gave a nod and took a deep breath. “Promise.”

“I’m sure your mind has already wrapped around how I knew something was wrong. Not a hard line to follow.” He absently traced the outline of the hole in Die’s jeans, his eyes seeming to pierce Die’s soul straight through. “Maybe you don’t realize it... maybe you’ve never seen it. But as much as you’ve ever been here for me, I’m here for you. All you’ve ever needed to do is ask for my help, Die. And I don’t know if it’s pride that keeps you from it or the blinders that anxiety puts on, but I’m right here.”

Die shook his head just the smallest amount. “You can’t pull me out of this, Kyo. I can’t ask that of anyone but myself.”

“I’m not offering to pull you out of it. That’s a job only you can do. I’m offering to be here for you while you do it. The ear to listen, the hand to soothe you while you lose yourself, the arms to actually be able to fall asleep in.” He reached up, hesitating only for half a second before pressing his palm to Die’s cheek. “You’re exhausted. I know you’re passing out again because you barely breathe when you do and normally you snore... just a little, but it’s there. And if you’re passing out, then you’re not sleeping. It’s not hard to tell.”

Despite his promise, Die closed his eyes the moment Kyo’s hand made contact with his cheek. The touch set off things inside him he had to instantly begin battle with. Desire. Craving. Arousal. It had never been truly fair to him that he’d always wanted the ones he couldn’t have, but that was how life had always worked and probably always would. And it left Die between a rock and a hard place, trying to decide what to do with one emotion while the other tried to creep up and overwhelm him. “I... I can’t.”

Kyo’s hand shifted, lightly running over his jaw and then down his neck, thumb wandering over Die’s prominent Adam’s apple for a moment. “Won’t. Can’t isn’t an option here. You’re holding back because of something else. You’re ashamed of it.” He slid his hand down Die’s chest and let it rest over his heart. “Daisuke... you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. You care so much about everyone else that you leave yourself out ninety percent of the time. But it’s time that you came to terms with some things in your life. If for no other reason than that it will help you evaluate your own life and give you at least one solid foundation to stand upon.”

Die sucked his cheeks in and bit down on them hard enough to sting, but not enough to break the skin, unable to even respond to the words in any way, shape, or form.

The vocalist’s fingers slowly slid down his chest, finally stopping as they met denim instead of cotton. “I need you to understand something and I’m not entirely sure you’ll believe me any other way.” Standing up, Kyo pressed between Die’s thighs, spearing one hand into the guitarist’s hair and tilting his head back. “Open your eyes.” The instant that Die obeyed the command, his eyelids flickering open, Kyo shifted his hips forward, grinding himself against Die’s own body, his eyes catching and holding Die’s own as he repeated the action. “Tell me... do you see any disgust here, Die?”

The action caught Die completely off-guard, his own hips arching toward Kyo in response, unable to hold the action back in the least. Arousal shot straight through his body, cleaving him in two with every single desire he’d been so busy holding back for years now. When the other spoke, he did his best to focus on the words and then on Kyo’s face, watching him as he ground up against him, against his slowly hardening cock. “No.” It was an honest answer. He couldn’t find disgust written anywhere on Kyo’s features. All he could see was lust, determination, and something he could only describe as caring.

“Do you want me to stop?” Kyo’s hips kept up the slow grind, his own arousal starting to press against the front of his pants. “All I ask is that you accept yourself how you are, Die... that’s all I want from you.”

Die’s hips pushed up even more frantically, his body straining for more contact with the other’s dick. He could feel it hardening and all he could focus on at all was the pure, driving need to know how Kyo would feel against him, fully hard. “Please,” he gasped out, completely losing all sense of reality outside of this bubble of the two of them, every single other sensation in his body overwhelmed by the driving need for orgasm for the first time in weeks.

Kyo didn’t waste any time with it, letting go of Die’s hair and instead pushing him back on the bed enough that he could follow. “Please what, Die? Talk to me... tell me what you want.” He left it unspoken, but the words telling Die that this was a lesson in asking for what he wanted and getting it were there, floating just under the surface of his other words.

The guitarist instantly began straining upward, eager to use the leverage he now had to press against Kyo more fully. “Want... to see you,” he gasped out in response. “Naked.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he froze, his hands moving to the bed and his heart clenching in his chest. What had he admitted to? What had he done?

But Kyo’s mouth against his own a moment later forced the anxiety out of him, broke open the seal on the vault of his desires, and freed him of the shackles of pretending he was someone he wasn’t. Die’s hips pushed up again and again, his body trembling under the effort, not strong enough to do all he wanted right then. A little whine of defeat escaped him as Kyo’s mouth left his own, traveling down to lightly attack his neck. Teeth scraped over his Adam’s apple and then Kyo backed away. “Watch me.”

Die pushed himself up on his arms, watching as Kyo pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. His fingers deftly unfastened his belt and his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers, revealing himself completely to Die’s gaze. He stood there for a moment, his cock fully hard, the most sultry look on his face. “Do you want me, Die?”

The guitarist nodded. “So much.”

“How long?”

“Years.”

“Tell me what you want right in this moment.”

“Cum... I want you to cum.”

“And for yourself?”

“That is for me.” Die turned his head away then, almost ashamed to admit what he just had. His hips arched again slightly, bucking for a second when the feeling of his length sliding along the inside of his pants felt good enough to repeat.

“Your body says otherwise,” Kyo offered quietly, sliding onto the bed and reaching for the guitarist’s pants. He pulled his belt free, unfastening the three buttons on the front of his jeans, and then sliding his hand inside, stroking across Die’s straining bulge. “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes.” The word was out before Die could stop it, his muscles trembling as he arched up hard from the bed, his cock flexing beneath Kyo’s fingers.

“That’s better.” Kyo made quick work of Die’s pants, removing them and tossing them across the room, uncaring where they landed. He pushed at Die’s shirt until the other yanked it off as well, letting it fall off the side of the bed. Moving forward, Kyo situated himself between Die’s thighs, slowly stroking over the revealed skin, his hands working their way from safe territory toward dangerous. “Touch me, Die... I know you’re at war with yourself here, but realize that sometimes the things you want... the things you desire... those will help the other person as well. Accept that not every selfish action is bad.”

Within a moment, Die reached for him, his legs tightening around Kyo’s hips, his body bucking against the vocalist’s, his hands sliding over Kyo’s biceps, caressing, lingering, testing the muscles beneath his hands.

“Talk... say what you want. Details, Die... let it out. All the repression. All these years of wanting and never getting. Just fucking ask for it.”

Die’s hands slid from the other’s arms down along his torso, feeling the muscles rippling beneath skin, urging him on. His fingers finally grasped Kyo’s ass, tugging him forward with it. “Rub against me,” he panted out. “Rub your cock against mine until we cum.”

Kyo lowered himself down against Die, fitting his hips to the guitarist’s own, and then he began to move, sensual rolls of his hips as he ground down against the other, his cock sliding alongside Die’s own. One hand came to rest in Die’s hair, the other on his side, so near his stomach. He kissed and licked and nipped his way along Die’s jaw and neck, showering him with affection. His lips came to press against Die’s ear. “Repeat these words with me. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

“You’re beautiful just the way you are,” Die returned, not a single bit of hesitation in his voice, his hips meeting Kyo’s own, even with the amount of effort it was taking with just those actions.

“I’m beautiful just the way I am,” Kyo offered, his voice wavering just the slightest, showing more clearly than anything else had that this was just as much for him as it was for Die. “And I need to accept that who I am is okay.”

Die closed his eyes tight, the pain of knowing he wasn’t alone slicing fresh through his heart. Kyo felt the same things he did, felt that agony of trying to be perfect and failing so hard at times. And here they were, locked in one another’s embrace, finding salvation in the least conventional of ways. “I’m beautiful...” his voice cracked and he forced the rest of his sentence out, “just the way I am.” Tears rolled down his face and Die arched up toward Kyo, his body desiring what was happening more than anything in these most painful of moments. “And I need to accept,” a gasping breath, “that who I am... is okay.”

Kyo moved to kiss him, pressing his lips harshly against the guitarist’s own as he picked up the speed of what they were doing, thrusting himself hard against the other, hips bucking desperately. Tearing away from the kiss, he breathed out, “And I need you to be okay with yourself just as much as I need to be okay with me.”

Nothing in the universe could have allowed Die to talk in that moment. His throat constricted, his body straining upward. And then, with a choked out moan, he lost it, his orgasm ripping through him harder than any he could ever remember having before. Nearly every muscle clenched and then released as warmth spilled from his cock across his abdomen. Tears slid down his cheeks and relief spiraled through his veins.

Kyo watched Die as he came, knowing his words had pushed him over the edge and feeling the return of them even if it wasn’t in the most verbal of manners. His fingers caressed Die’s hair, soothing him even as he ramped up his own actions, desperation urging him through to the end. Straining, he found what he was seeking, his moan loud and clear in the room as he released, his cock resting over Die’s as he pulsed out his offering. Sated relief swept through him in quick aftermath of his end.

Shifting them to their sides, Kyo pulled Die against him, cradling him there, tight against his body, leaning in to kiss the tears away. “I’m here for you... I’ve always been here.” He pressed one hard kiss to the guitarist’s lips and then settled again, stroking through Die’s hair. “Sleep now... please... just let yourself sleep. I’ll be right here.”

That was all it really took for Die, just the knowledge that he wasn’t alone, that he wouldn’t be when he woke up. Even as he closed his eyes, he was already slipping, sliding away into the most necessary place of all.

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

_There’s so many things I could be writing here, but... they just don’t feel relevant. I could tell of how I lost myself in the abyss of my own mind for the past three years particularly. Or I could tell you that I’ve relapsed twice since Kyo came to me. But those bits aren’t the relevant ones. Relapses happen. Shit happens. And sometimes the pit opens up behind you and when you take a step back to view the world, you fall down into the abyss. But the important thing... the thing I’ve always been lacking... is that tow-line to haul me back out. And now I have one. Tight and secure, cradled to me every single night since the first one, tight in my arms in the morning and secure by my side throughout the day._

_When I really think about it, I realize that maybe half the problems in this world are born from the loneliness that wells up inside of us. When we’re lonely we can’t see past our own problems into the world. Or sometimes we shove all of our own on the backburner and concentrate so fully on everyone else that we forget to take care of ourselves. Neither solution is the answer and both are equally as horrible in the end._

_I guess what I’m trying to say... is that Kyo’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It hasn’t been a long time yet and it’s not like we’re making any promises for the future... but I feel stronger with him by my side. Something about him being here for me has given me the hope that I can do this, that I can come out the other side a better man for all my effort. And, honestly... I think it’s helping him in the end as well. Ever since we’ve been staying together, his scars have started to fade away and I haven’t seen the little case full of his sins move an inch on his dresser. Something he’s kept with him for years and it’s just lying there, discarded... but not forgotten. I see him looking at it the same way I look at the bottles in my cabinet. But he’s been stronger in it, left it there without touching it. I think he’s found other ways around his desires for such things... and I’m slowly finding my own._

Die shifted back from the computer, having chosen to put this one on the screen rather than on paper. But after a moment, he slid back to the keyboard and quickly added a line.

_I may be blinded by the newness and I may be being a sentimental fool... but I think... no, I know, I’m in love._

With that, he saved and closed the document, setting the computer to shut down. Reaching to the side, he stroked over the soft white fur of his cat before heading toward the bathroom where he could hear Kyo rattling around.

Toeing open the door, Die leaned himself against the frame, watching as Kyo picked up a pair of underwear and then paused, his eyes flicking to Die’s own. A smirk slid across the guitarist’s face and he held out his hand. “I just want to feel you against me tonight. Leave them off.”

Kyo bit his lip a little and then dropped the underwear back onto the top of the hamper, reaching down to slowly remove the towel around his waist. When he finally met Die’s eyes, there was a certain shame burning bright in his own. “I fucked up, Die...”

Die’s eyes slid down over Kyo’s frame, finding the bright red lines, angry claw marks from Kyo’s own fingernails running over his thigh. He held out his hand to the other and offered him a small smile. “It’s okay. We all fuck up sometimes.” A sense of déjà vu settled over him, the words his lover had spoken to him the first time he’d found him hanging over the toilet, heaving his guts out after a night spent binge drinking coming from his own lips so easily. Reassurance... or a form of it anyway, he supposed.

Together they stepped into the bedroom and Die shut the door firmly, as if shutting the rest of the world out. He led Kyo to their bed and eased his lover down onto the cool sheets, discarding his own pajama pants before straddling him, shifting to lie down virtually over the smaller man’s body, encompassing him in his warmth and protection. He pressed his mouth against Kyo’s ear and softly whispered, “I’m here for you. I’ll smother the world out so that there’s only us for tonight. Now... talk to me.”

Kyo relaxed under the weight of Die’s body, the tension seeming to drain from him as he was so completely restrained from doing anything at all but thinking and breathing. The feeling of his lover’s lips tenderly caressing his neck brought him the freedom to allow the words to escape, the press of Die’s entire weight on him affording him the luxury of the tormenting inner voices ceasing for just a while. “I just lost myself today. I can’t explain why... if I knew, I’d have cut it off before it started.” His fingers moved, the only thing able to, pressing lightly against Die’s sides. “But this helps me.” 

He closed his eyes and just breathed it in for a few long minutes, Die letting him remain quiet, not making a single indication that he needed to continue. At long last, he took in a deep breath. “How did you know it would help?”

Die pressed a light kiss to his temple and pulled back enough to look at him. “I didn’t. But the desire to hurt yourself was there, so I thought maybe the pressure would help in the same sort of way.”

The softest of smiles ghosted over Kyo’s features and he struggled for a second, pulling his arm free and then reaching up to cup Die’s cheek. “How about you? How are you doing today, Daisuke?”

A grin born straight from his heart pulled at Die’s lips and he leaned into the other’s touch. “I’m broken, baby... we all are. The world is in fucked up shambles. But you know what?”

“Hmm?” Kyo asked softly, his eyes sparkling just to see the truth in that smile for the first time in years.

“It doesn’t matter. Because right here... with you... I know that I can overcome anything. And even when I fuck up and I fall back in, you’ll be on the other end of that rope, tugging me back up.” Die leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Kyo’s lips before murmuring softly against them, “And I’m on the other end of your rope. Together we can make it through.”

**The End**


End file.
